An Unsubtle Reminder
by Lord Ironwolf
Summary: It seems that the higher your rank in Space/Chaos Marines the less likely you are to wear your helmet. Captain Flynn reminds a group of Chaos Marines why that is not a good idea.


AN UNSUBTLE REMINDER

Captain Flynn shook his head to clear it and scattered dirt from of his beret as he got up onto all fours. That blast from the Chaos Defiler's battle cannon had landed almost directly on top of the command dugout. He sat up on his haunches and a quick look around saw that they were pretty well fethed. One trooper was dead, torn in half with his bloody entrails decorating the dugout around him, two other troopers were dead or stunned unconscious, Sergeant Finnegan was flat on his back cradling his melta gun and repeating "bloody 'ell" over and over, and Commissar Zandrig was feebly trying to extricate himself from under a pile of dirt and sand bags. A look over the edge of the dugout showed him the Defiler that had fired the shot was now clanking towards his position like some demonically possessed six legged mechanical mutant creature, which to be fair, is rather what it was. Yeah, they were well and truly fethed. At least, he thought to himself, it can't get any worse.

" _For the Emperor!"_ roared out from several throats nearby.

In fact things might just be getting a bit better, he thought. He cautiously looked over the edge of the dugout and saw five Space Marines and a really big combination of muscle, armor, hate and violence were closing on the dugout from about 30 meters out. His mind was still a bit fuzzy. At first he didn't recognize the silver and blue color scheme of the armor. Then someone further down the line called out to them. They responded by facing that direction and ruthlessly gunning them down. As they fired they shouted, " _Hydra Dominatus!"_ He could now clearly see the Hydra emblem on their left shoulders, they were Alpha Legion, Chaos Marines. His mind was much clearer now.

Flynn glared up at the war torn sky and muttered, "Emperor, you have a really strange sense of humor." All of them carried the massive weapons typical of their kind, chain swords, belt-fed bolters, one had a power fist in addition to his chain sword, and much to his disgust, one had a reaper auto-cannon while another had a heavy flamer. Now that he could see them more clearly, their blue and silver armor looked as if it was grafted onto their bodies, which he knew from experience, it probably was. As for the biggest one of the group, it was almost impossible to tell where the armor stopped and Chaos mutated flesh began. That one most likely a champion. The Chaos Marine with the power fist and chain axe said something that Flynn couldn't hear and the big one backhanded him hard enough to make him stagger, and the one he struck just took it. Yeah, that big one was the leader, a Champion or something just as bad.

He also noted that none of them wore helmets. Not for the first time, and Emperor willing not for the last time, he wondered why anyone would bother to put on that much armor to protect themselves and then leave something so vulnerable and vital (like their head) completely out in the open. Well, he wasn't going to turn down an Emperors gift when it came prancing his way. Captain Flynn was an incredibly good shot and on more than a few occasions unsubtly reminded power armored Chaos Marines why they should wear helmets. Terminator armor, power armor, carapace armor or a flak jacket, it makes no difference when they're bare headed and you don't intend to shoot at the center of mass. He drew his master crafted plasma pistol and waited for them to get a bit closer.

At about eight meters (He misjudged. He actually wanted to do this at around ten) he stood up so his upper chest and arms were above the edge of the dugout, leveled his plasma pistol in a one handed dueling style stance to present less of a target, and then shouted, "Alright you asshole. That is as far as your get!"

The Chaos Marines brought their weapons up instantly, but the champion waved them down. He sneered down at the lone human guardsman defying him, "Are you speaking to me?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, you answered." Flynn responded reasonably. The same marine that had been backhanded before snickered and that earned him another backhanded blow. Apparently he was a bit slow in the 'proper way to ingratiate yourself with the boss' skill. Flynn decided that that one's nickname was now 'bitchslap'. Actually, Flynn was expecting and counting on the champion stopping to exchange insults. Had he opened fire without warning, he might have gotten two of them and before the reaction fire from the others torn into him and wouldn't have left enough of him for a Tyranid to toss into a protein pit. But, like in some cheesy, B-grade holo-vid, when the big bad guy gets confronted, he has to stop to remind the main character who he is dealing with, why he should be afraid, and how he will die. They did this even when it was the stupidest thing they could do (like now). It had happened enough times in real life to Flynn that he was almost ready to believe it was some sort of natural law of the universe. And it was one he happily exploited, and besides, he liked being the main character.

Sure enough, "Do you have any idea who I am? Just how woefully insignificant and pitiful you are compared to me, let alone to dare challenge me? I am D'Kalaha, Champion of Chaos Undivided. I have killed thousands of Guardsmen in a single day. I have killed Black Templar Emperors Champions and taken their black swords as trophies. I have disemboweled Hive Tyrants and smashed Necron lords beyond their ability to repair. And what are you? A normal mortal human. No powers, no modifications, no exceptional abilities, no psychic abilities, nothing but your own inadequate and fragile flesh. And how do you protect that pitiful flesh, carapace armor? You might as well be naked for all the good that will do you." He laughed evilly, "I like your audacity though. I will take you alive, cripple your limbs, and have you carried in a mesh sack so you can witness the destruction and desecration of all you sought to protect. When I am ready to let you die, I will leave you for rats to devour."

While not exactly bored, Captain Flynn was getting a bit impatient for him to wrap up is monolog. At last though, it was his turn. "I am all those things. Nothing more than a normal human doing his duty. I am also your ending." The Chaos Marines burst out in cruel laughter (except for bitchslap, he was still sulking about being backhanded twice) and D'Kalaha threw his head back roared out his laughter to make sure his was the loudest and most cruel.

This is what Flynn was waiting for. With all of them nice and distracted, he used D'Kalaha's upturned nostrils as an aiming point and pulled the trigger. The bolt of super-heated plasma entered through the nasal cavity and exited through the back of the skull in a glorious display of outwardly exploding bone and vaporizing brain matter. D'Kalaha was dead before he even knew he was shot. The body had not even began to topple over when Flynn fired twice more. He had picked the order of his targets carefully. The Chaos Marine with the reaper auto-cannon was next, followed a split second later by the one with the heavy flamer. The first one's head went flying as the plasma bolt took him in the throat and his head came off like it had been launched. The other had nothing remaining from the cheek bones up. Both bodies were trying to catch up with D'Kalaha's body crumpling to the ground. Flynn knew he would never have gotten away with this if they had worn their helmets like sensible people. But hey, they were Chaos, what did you expect?

He tracked to his next target and fired simultaneously with the marine firing his bolter. They both hit. In the stance that he was in, the bolt round glanced off his armor instead of hitting it full on. Captain Flynn was thrown harshly against the back side of the dugout. He would have some cracked ribs, but the carapace armor held. The marine had been hit in the abdomen below the chest plate. The shot penetrated and what organs were not flash fried, were now starting to seep out of the hole in the armor. It was a fatal wound, but the marine wasn't dead yet and he realized both those things in the same instant. He flipped the firing switch to full auto and held down the trigger as he slumped forward. The bolter rounds stitched a line of small craters in the wall of the dugout missing Flynn by less than half a meter.

Given how exposed he was at the back of the dugout, Flynn thought he should be dead by now. He looked at the other bolter armed marine and saw him angrily and determinedly try to clear a jam on his weapon. Something had got caught in the links on the boltshell belt and it would not feed. Flynn had no sympathy. Hand held weapons that used projectiles were meant to be fed from a magazine to prevent this exact thing from happening. Chaos, for some reason, insisted on having belts of rounds dangling from the magazine well and when you do that, crap gets stuck in them. He took aim and fired, once again reminding someone that would never remember it, that you should always wear your helmet in combat. That left bitchslap. It also left his plasma pistol totally useless as it emitted a soft pulsating warning tone. Being master crafted meant it would not explode. But that didn't mean that it would not shut down for an emergency cooling off if you over worked it. It was in the process of doing right now. There was nothing left to do but bluff. He aimed at the last marine and glared over pistol sights at him. "Any last words?"

Bitchslap was taken completely by surprise. He had felt he was being treated unfairly by D'Kalaha and was trying to figure out how to get back at him (and have it blamed on someone else, of course). He didn't see a lone guardsman as any threat and wasn't paying much attention. Suddenly D'Kalaha's head exploded. He was paying a great deal of attention now. Before he could react though, Ralkath's head shot into the air and Drenish's face dissolved from the nose up. He started to charge the Guardsman but before he could get two steps, lurask was gutted and Falith literally lost his head while trying to clear a jam. And now that lone Guardsman that he didn't think was worth his attention was mocking him. He knew he couldn't clear the distance and tear the insolent dog in half with his chain axe before the Guardsman shot again.

Bitchslap would never consider himself a coward. He preferred to think of himself as smarter than most Chaos Marines. Dead warriors were quickly forgotten. You had to be alive to enjoy the fruits of glory. Being a step behind in the charge to let the stupid ones soak up defensive fire was the smart thing to do. Encouraging fools to lead the charge so they died first was the smart thing to do. Slaughtering the enemies they softened up and taking the credit was the smart thing to do. Charging straight at a Guardsman that just blew off the heads of everyone else in the squad was NOT the smart thing to do. There was nothing left to do but bluff. He came to a stop, "I have a question."

"Go on." Flynn would happily talk about anything, even Ork reproductive habits, just as long as it gave his plasma pistol time to cool down.

"You're a big man with the plasma pistol in hand. How big are you without it? I think you're a coward. Would you dare face me without it? I think you're pissing yourself just thinking about it." If he could goad him into dropping the plasma pistol, this would be over soooo quickly. He thought it was possible. Guardsmen were stupid. They had to be to be on the same battlefield as Chaos Marines.

Flynn paused for a few seconds before replying. It wasn't that he didn't have a response, he was stalling. "Let me get this straight. You're a genetically engineered super soldier, about 2 and a half meters tall, twice my strength and reflex speed, with a couple dozen extra organs to make you harder to kill, and you're encased in thick ceramite armor that makes you even harder to kill on top of that. You've got a chainsword and a power fist. Me, just as the asshole said, I'm a normal human with no nothing added wearing carapace armor and except for my plasma pistol, nothing but a trench knife. You want me to drop my plasma pistol so we can have a 'fair' fight. Really?" He sneered. "What do you really think I'm going to do?" At that moment, the plasma pistol emitted the two-tone pulse that signaled that it was ready to resume use. "Unlike you, I'm not a total fething idiot. My pistol was in cooldown from firing too fast. If you had charged me instead of trying to trick me you could have torn me to shreds and there would have been feth all I could have done about it. As it is now," Flynn gave him a big overly friendly smile.

Bitchslap didn't respond verbally, but roared and launched himself at Flynn. Flynn was ready and fired at Bitchslap's unprotected head. What he was not ready for was Bitchslap to raise the flat of his chainsword to in front of his face to take the shot. It smashed the sword back into his face but did not slow him down in the slightest. Flynn redirected to Bitchslap's chest and tried to double tap it. One shot got off before the shutdown tone sounded again, it had not cooled down enough to be abused like that again. It would have taken the Chaos Marine dead center in the chest had he not brought up his power fist to protect it. Again, the shot knocked the weapon into the Chaos Marine but did not slow him down. Flynn was a firm believer in making your enemies mad because angry people made careless mistakes. Belatedly, he realized that enraging a melee dedicated Chaos Marine was perhaps not the smartest thing to do.

There was no more time to think and nothing left to do as the Chaos Marine reached the edge of the dugout and leapt two meters into the air with both weapons held high above him to use the weight of his descent to add to the overkill of bringing both weapons down on Flynn at the same time. At the apex of the leap an incandescent beam of energy took him in the right side just under the chest plate and exited his left side at the shoulder, blasting the arm completely off. The impact knocked the Chaos Marine off his trajectory and when he it the ground, it was to Flynn's right instead of right on top of him.

Flynn looked to his left and watched while Sergeant Finnigan stood up from his firing position and lowered his melta-gun. "Sorry sur, twas a wee bit out of it fur a bit."

Flynn let out a sigh of relief, "All is forgiven." They both started to chuckle as the pent-up stress began to ease out. Flynn pointed out to where the other chaos marines were laying headless in the dirt. "And there lies the best argument for always wearing a helmet."

Finnegan snorted, "Far be it from me ta argue with a superior officer," This time Flynn snorted. They had been together for a long time and he knew that exactly for the sarcasm that it was. "but for all that ye be callin them fools for not wearing helmets, here we stand with nuttin but berets on our noggins."

"That's different."

Finnegan chuckled, "To be sure, to be sure, sur."

"Really, it is. Given the weapons they are using, this stuff," he thumped his chest for emphasis, and immediately regretted it as he was painfully reminded of his injured ribs, "is next to useless. For us, wearing a helmet won't make any difference. They on the other hand, if they had been wearing helmets though, some of them might have lived long enough to kill me."

Finnegan struck an overly dramatic pose and appeared deep in thought glancing up at the sky. After a moment, "I suppose ye be right on that. Seems just a tad bit fatalistic though. An lets come out and say it direct, we be looking better in berets than they do in helmets." And they both chuckled at that.

"Um, men?" A voice from the back of the dugout caught their attention. Commissar Zandrig was now fully conscience but still half buried under sandbags and debris.

"Sorry sur, we'll be gettin you out of there in a jiff." Commissar Zandrig just stared at him without any expression and merely pointed. They looked in the direction he pointed and there at the edge of the dugout was the Defiler. Finnigan looked up at it and glared. "Well just dry bugger me! There be no fething way that fething thing could have snuck up on us being the six legged, clanking monstrosity that it is!"

"Yet there it is." Flynn pointed out calmly. He was beyond fear at this point, not brave, just resigned. The beast-engine revved its engines in such a way that it sounded suspiciously like motorized laughter. It started to aim its various weapons at them and then aim them away again as if trying to decide which one to use. There was always one pointed at them. Finnigan knew for certain that if he tried to raise his melta-gun which ever weapon was pointed at them at the time would open up. Flynn and Finnigan looked at each other and nodded. They then raised their right fists into the air, turned their palms inward, and extended their middle fingers.

All of the Defilers weapons came to bear on them at once. It was then struck in the side right on the turret ring by a brilliant beam of overcharged laser energy. The turret was blown completely off and the chasey was flipped over on its back where the legs twitched briefly and then went still, giving the appearance of looking now like a dead mechanical bug.

Flynn shook his head to clear it from the after effects of the blast and looked around to see where the shot had come from. At first, he didn't see anything, just the rubble of the battlefield. Then he saw the barrel of the huge laser cannon sticking out from between two mounds of debris. It was a Stug. Well, the official designation was Leman Russ Laser Destroyer. It was basically a turretless Leman Russ but had a huge laser cannon mounted in the front. With its low profile it hid very well in rubble and broken terrain. He didn't know why they were called Stugs and at the moment couldn't have cared less. He dialed his combead to the general frequency, "Captain Flynn looking for the Laser Destroyer that just took the Defiler."

There was a short burst of static, "Sergeant Mortson, at your service sir."

"If we're both alive at the end of this, I'll see to it that you'll get a fine bottle of aged amsec for that shot."

"Thank you sir! Just doing our job but I won't say no to the bottle."

"I'll see to it, over and out."

When the commlink was closed, the Destroyer driver turned to his crew chief, "Should we tell him we could have fired at any time but were using his command squad for bait to set up the shot we took?"

"Let's get the bottle first and check how good that amsec is, and then decide about that."


End file.
